


game on

by virtuosity



Category: Figure Skating RPF, Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2020 NHL Playoffs Bubble, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:00:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25850248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virtuosity/pseuds/virtuosity
Summary: five conversations after five games
Relationships: Morgan Rielly/Tessa Virtue
Comments: 11
Kudos: 86





	game on

**Author's Note:**

> several people ~~insisted~~ asked that i upload the ficlets i was posting on twitter after each game to ao3 so here we go
> 
> i put them all together in five parts rather than tiny separate chapters
> 
> (also i said this on twitter, but i 100% stole a line from the west wing for game 3 and i feel no shame)
> 
> let me know if you have any other ficlet ideas on twitter @_virtuosity!

_ Game 1 _

"Anyone feel up to an unsanctioned pity beer?" Auston asks as they all file off the bus at the hotel. "Mo?"

"Nah," he answers with a shake of his head. "Think I'm just gonna go call my girl and go to bed." 

He waves off the inevitable teasing his answer solicits, and, with another supportive pat to Auston's back for his response to Steve Simmons, he slips off into the stairwell, hoping to avoid running into anyone else. 

He drops his bag to the floor as soon as he's through the door to his room and pulls out his phone, dropping to the bed with a groan.

She answers quickly with a soft 'hey' and he feels a bit of the tension leave his shoulders.

"I hate losing," he starts. 

"Do you? I had no idea," she teases and he smiles in spite of himself. 

"I'm gonna remember this next time you lose at crib," he replies.

"Look on the bright side - it was really hot watching you put a guy in a headlock." 

A laugh bursts from him at her words and she giggles. A sharp yip follows the sound and Tessa hums happily. He can easily picture the way she has pulled the puppy into her arms and buried her nose in her fur and he feels an ache at not being there with them.

As if she can sense his growing melancholy she murmurs, "She peed in my shoes this morning by the way" and he can't help but grin. He knows how she feels about her shoes, so the fact that she's using that to make him feel better says a lot.

He flops to his back on the bed and closes his eyes as she starts filling him in on the rest of her (but mostly their dog's) day, letting her voice warm him from the inside out and chase away his gloom.

Turns out losing games is a little easier when he gets her at the end, but he's not going to make it a habit.

* * *

_ Game 2 _

"Hey." She answers quickly, voice soft and warm. 

"Hey," he sighs. 

"Are you okay? Is Jake okay?"

"He…" he trails off before clearing his throat. "He couldn't feel his arms and legs."

"Shit," she murmurs in concern. He's grateful in that moment that she's a professional athlete too. She gets it, the lurking spectre of an injury you refuse to look directly at, the thing you are always aware of but can't let yourself focus on or it will take you out. 

"But, uh, they said it came back in the ambulance. He's at the hospital. They're saying it looks good." 

She lets out a heavy breath. "Good. That's good. Good is...good." 

"Are  _ you _ okay?" he asks quietly, catching the hint of anxiety in her response.

"Oh I'm fine!" 

"Tess."

He can hear her hesitancy, but she eventually quietly admits, "It scared me a little." 

He doesn't want her to feel that way, but it warms him ever so slightly that she loves him enough to be scared for him. 

"Yeah," he says, trying to keep his voice light. "I'm the lucky one.'

"What?"

"I don't have to worry about you like that anymore."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning you're not skating anymore so I don't have to try and keep blocking out nightmares of you hitting the ice with some kind of bloody crunch," he lets out in one breath. 

She's quiet for a moment. Then, "I'll give you points for imagery, but…"

He laughs. 

She continues, "Did you worry? When I was still skating?"

"Of course. It's always there in the back of your mind. You know that."

"He never dropped me," she replies. "Not once in 22 years. Never hit the ice. I think he probably would have stepped in front of a speeding train if he ever did." 

"I know," he says. "I know that. Logically I know that. But…"

They sit in silence for a moment and he wonders if he's crossed some kind of line. He continues, "I never questioned Scott's ability or trust or anything like that. I just had concerns with whether the universe was going to fuck around with the well-being of the girl I loved."

"You loved me then?" she asks cheekily. 

He rolls his eyes. "You know I did. Besides I don't think I needed to worry about Scott or the universe, I think I needed to worry about you. For a graceful dancer you're really fucking clumsy."

She laughs and it lights warmth in his chest. "That's rude."

"It's true."

"I never said it wasn't true, I said it was rude," she says. "Does this mean we've reached the part of the game recap where I get to make fun of you for falling down again?"

He drops his head with a chuckle. "If you must."

"It is not that I must, it is that I need." 

"Okay well  _ I _ need you to be nice to me. I'm very delicate tonight."

"Suck it up, Rielly. Jake's okay, you won - nice goal by the way, that was very sexy - and you fell down in front of millions of people again," she says. "Things are looking up."

* * *

_Game 3_

He doesn't call her.

It's the first time he hasn't spoken to her before going to bed in longer than he can really remember and certainly the first time since he went into the bubble. 

The thing is, he knows he would feel better if he did - it's almost a guarantee at this point. She makes his life better, she makes  _ him _ better. 

But right now he doesn't want to feel better. He doesn't want to  _ be _ better. He wants to be angry and hungry for a win. He wants revenge, he wants to harness this frustration into ferocity. 

In short - he wants to fuck some shit up. And he doesn't know if he can do that with her warmth in his ear and that feeling of home she evokes lingering on his mind. It's not time for settling down. 

He texts her that he's just going to go to bed and doesn't wait for a response, sure that he wouldn't be able to keep himself from calling if he saw her respond.

He doesn't sleep well and he can't tell if it's frustration or nerves or feeling off-kilter because he didn't talk to her but he wakes up restless and agitated. 

As he wipes the sleep from his eyes, a memory of her a few weeks ago surfaces. She'd had a job interview and woken up jittery and out of sorts before disappearing into the bathroom without a word. He'd worried. It was difficult - strange - to see her rattled like that. 

But an hour later she had emerged and she was what he has taken to calling Tessa Fucking Virtue - the one with the eyes of steel, exuding not just strength but capability, the one who walked into a rink and dominated. The one who won the fucking Olympics.

He realizes that in his single-minded focus and tunnel vision at being another game down he'd forgotten that mixed in with her kindness and love and generosity is ferocity and relentlessness and pure ambition. It's the fundamental dichotomy of who she is. 

She wants the best. Whether it's for herself or those around her, she feeds on competition, she  _ thrives  _ on it. She was always going to fuel that part of him, keep him on his toes with the taste of a win on his lips.

She wasn't just going to make him better, she was going to make him the best. 

He reads the one message she'd sent back - 

_ Game on, boyfriend. Let's go. _

* * *

_Game 4_

"Why are you calling me? Don't call me, go to bed!" 

He gives a tired chuckle at the sternness in her voice. "I am, I promise. Just wanted to hear you reprimand me for a bit apparently."

"I'm serious. You need to rest. You've been on ice so much in the last day," she says, her voice softening. 

"Necessary. I'll be okay. Just talk to me for a minute."

She's quiet for a moment. "So I've been thinking." 

"About?"

"I think I could kill Nick Foligno and get away with it."

It takes a moment for his overworked mind to process what she's said before he lets out a truly undignified snort of laughter. 

"I could! Think about it," she continues. "Nobody would suspect me and I'm very wily."

"Are you now?"

"I am. Like a fox."

"I thought it was a coyote."

"Did you just make a Looney Toons joke? How old are you?" she giggles. 

"Is that a conversation you want to start?" he replies. 

Changing the subject without even a breath she says, " _ Plus _ even if I did get caught - who is going to convict me, Tessa Virtue, Canada's sweetheart?" 

He can't help the tired grin that's taken up residence on his face. "It's true. It's hard to be mad at you. You'd just smile at the detective and he'd be a goner."

She gives a satisfied little hum and they fall into a comfortable silence. Just as the sound of her breathing is luring him into sleep, she murmurs, "Promise me something?"

"Hm?"

"Promise me you won't play injured."

He opens his eyes at her words and doesn't respond. 

"Morgan," she pushes. 

"I'm okay," he says. 

"That's not what I asked," she replies, quietly. 

"I know." 

"Babe -"

"Tess, please don't make me lie to you." 

He can hear her thinking in the silence that follows before she says, "If I can't kill him can I just break his ankles?"

He laughs quietly. "Sure. You can Tonya it up."

"That was kneecaps and I'm not doing it so you'll win, I'm doing it because he's an asshole."

"Right." 

"It's an important distinction," she says. 

"I don't know, I've heard figure skaters are pretty wily." 

"We aren't the ones that have a reputation for fighting."

"Of the two of us who's spent the last ten minutes talking about causing bodily harm?" he asks.

"Don't even try, you're already an accomplice," she says and he can imagine the tongue-touched smile so clearly. 

"That's not fair," he murmurs, letting his eyes fall shut again.

"It is too. If I go down we both go down."

"Oh I'll go down for you." He's aiming for suggestive but he thinks he's started to slur his words as he settles into his pillow. 

"Sleep, love. You need to rest if you're gonna keep breaking your hockey equipment."

He wants to respond but it comes out as a garbled murmur and he lets himself drift off with the soft sound of her giggles in his ear.

* * *

_ Game 5 _

He's tired. He's just so fucking tired. 

That's really the only thing he can feel other than numb now. He had expected anger and defeat and sadness but it hasn't come. He's sure it will eventually but, for now, all he wants is sleep. 

Well - he reaches for the phone he'd dropped to the nightstand before flopping to the bed - sleep and his girlfriend. 

The tone in her voice when she answers is understanding but not pitying and he's grateful that she knows what he needs right now. It's born from her own experiences of loss and near-misses and frustration at what is likely an uneven playing field, but he's grateful all the same. 

"You played a hell of a game tonight, baby," she murmurs in his ear. 

"Not good enough though."

"Stop putting my boyfriend down, please," she replies, her voice gentle but firm. "Pretty sure he's still bleeding from the face right now."

He reaches up to run his fingers across his nose. "Not so much anymore."

"Point still stands." 

He sighs. He doesn't want to talk about it, doesn't even have the words  _ to _ talk about it, but at the same time he doesn't want to wallow by himself in silence. She knows him well enough to know that, and changes the subject. 

He lets himself settle into the sound of her voice and laughter, lets it wash over him and can almost feel it healing the cuts and bruises, putting all of the pieces of himself back together. 

She begins with an update on Z who she says has moved right into chewing 101 and took her slippers and a pair of his pajamas with her and follows it up by telling him about filming her Pepsi ad with Jordan and how she had tripped over her own feet so ungracefully that her sister had dropped her phone she was laughing so hard. 

She manages to pull a small, rough laugh from him with her description of exactly how she had fallen down and he can feel her love and pride at the sound even over the phone. 

She holds the phone up to Zam, telling her to say hi, only for the puppy to sniff and snort into the speaker and he's not magically better and he's certainly not okay, but he's pretty sure he'll get there with the two of them there to catch his fall.

"Come home, babe," she murmurs. "We're waiting for you."


End file.
